Chapter 221: The trip was worth it

The explosion of white vitality swallowed everything.

For a moment, there was only blinding radiance—like a newborn sun had bloomed inside the god realm. The shockwave rolled across floating continents, bending divine structures, shaking the sky itself. Pure life energy, too much of it, too violently released, devoured everything in its radius.

Then…

slowly…

the light began to fade.

What remained was devastation.

The Divine World Tree stood half-burned and half-torn, its once-radiant leaves now charred and falling like dying embers. Massive branches had snapped apart. The trunk was cracked, leaking streams of fading vitality that evaporated into the air.

Silence settled over the ruined battlefield.

Within the thinning glow, a silhouette appeared.

A man stood at the center of it all.

As the last of the white brilliance dimmed, his figure became clear—Zane. His white shirt hung in tatters, riddled with holes, barely clinging to him. Black pants intact. Skin untouched. Not a single wound.

He looked up at the sky with a relaxed expression, as if the previous catastrophe had been little more than an inconvenience.

“…Ah,” he said casually, glancing down at his clothes.

“I have to give them that. Someone finally managed to destroy my clothes, at least.”

A faint chuckle escaped him.

Around him, the remnants of the explosion still crackled. Burned fragments of divine vines drifted through the air like ash. The ground—if it could still be called that—was cratered and warped by overflowing vitality that had nowhere left to go.

Zane stretched his neck slightly, then rolled one shoulder.

He looked ahead.

“Alright,” he murmured, tone light.

“There are three more tasks left to be done now.”

.

.

.

.

The battlefield still smoked from the blast of overflowing vitality.

Broken divine branches lay scattered across the shattered terrain. The half-burned World Tree groaned faintly, its remaining leaves flickering with dying light. For a few moments, nothing moved.

Then—

A body stirred on the ground.

Primordius’ eyes snapped open.

“…I’m… alive?”

He lay there for a second, staring upward at the dimmed sky of the god realm. Slowly, he pushed himself up. His body felt heavy, but there wasn’t a single burn on him. No torn flesh. No missing limbs.

He looked down at his hands.

Unharmed.

A low scoff left him.

“Hmph… that explosion was something,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “But I still survived.”

He turned his head left, then right, scanning the devastated landscape.

“If I survived… the others must have too,” he said, though the words lacked conviction. “And that man… he would have survived as well.”

His jaw tightened.

“We can’t defeat that guy,” he admitted under his breath. “I should find the others… and leave.”

A voice answered him.

“You don’t need to find them.”

Primordius froze.

“They’re dead.”

His eyes widened. His face hardened instantly.

Slowly, he looked up.

Zane floated a short distance away, suspended in the air as if gravity meant nothing. His torn white shirt fluttered in the drifting winds of residual mana. Black hair moved gently. Deep purple eyes glowed faintly as he looked down at the lone surviving god.

Primordius’ throat tightened.

“…That’s not right,” he said, voice strained. “If I survived, then—”

Zane cut him off.

“You didn’t survive by yourself,” he said calmly. “I was the one who saved you from the explosion.”

Silence.

Primordius stared at him, stunned.

“…Why?” he asked.

Zane’s lips curved into a slow, almost cheerful smirk.

“Why, you ask?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“So I can kill you with my own hands.”

He lifted a finger and tapped his right cheek lightly—the same place Primordius had punched earlier when Zane was restrained by the tree.

Primordius’ expression shifted from confusion to dread.

“…That didn’t hurt you at all,” he said.

“True,” Zane replied easily. “But still… it’s more fun this way.”

Primordius swallowed.

“That’s… incredibly petty.”

Zane nodded without hesitation.

“Yeah. I can be petty.”

Before Primordius could react—

Zane vanished.

A flicker.

He reappeared directly in front of him.

Too fast.

Primordius didn’t even register the movement before a hand seized his arm. There was a violent tear—flesh and bone separating in a brutal motion.

His arm came off.

“AAARGH—!!!”

Primordius screamed, staggering backward as golden-hued blood sprayed through the air.

Zane looked at the severed limb in his hand.

“…Looks like you’ve been disarmed,” he said casually.

Primordius clutched the stump, gasping, too overwhelmed by pain to even process the joke.

Zane stared at him for a second.

Silence.

“…Right. That didn’t land,” he muttered.

Then he moved again.

One step forward.

A single punch.

His fist drove straight through Primordius’ head.

There was no resistance.

Bone shattered. Blood and fragments scattered outward in a violent burst. The body stood for a fraction of a second before collapsing lifelessly.

Zane pulled his hand back. Blood dripped from his fist.

He looked at it, then at the corpse.

“…Well,” he sighed lightly.

“That was embarrassing.”

Zane looked down at Primordius’ headless corpse for a moment, then casually shook the blood from his hand.

“You know what,” he said to the lifeless body, tone almost conversational, “I don’t want any of your titles.”

A pause.

“hollow titles.”

He glanced up toward the distant horizon of the god realm.

“…Now, onto the other thing.”

He vanished.

—

Minutes earlier — Hall of Judgment

The chamber and the surrounding plazas of the citadel had turned into a graveyard.

Broken pillars. Cracked marble. Divine blood still evaporating into gold mist. Corpses of divine soldiers and officers lay scattered across the floor, some torn apart, some half-melted by dark mana. A few mid-gods and lower gods remained alive, though badly injured, slowly regenerating with the help of residual divine energy in the air.

The survivors gathered in uneasy clusters.

One low god wiped blood from his mouth and looked toward the distant sky.

“It’s been several minutes since the High Gods left with that… abyssal,” he said. “They should’ve defeated him by now.”

Another answered, voice uncertain.

“It shouldn’t take this long for them to return… did they los—”

“Silence.”

A mid-god cut him off sharply.

“The High Gods are among the strongest in this realm,” he said. “Except for the Three Great Leaders, no one here can defeat them. So wait… and watch.”

The air trembled faintly.

Then—

Far beyond the citadel, in the distance, a white light bloomed.

At first it was just a glow on the horizon. Then it expanded. And expanded. A massive burst of white radiance spread across the sky of the god realm like a second dawn.

The ground vibrated under their feet.

Some gods staggered. Others shielded their eyes.

The light reached its peak—

and then faded.

What followed was a gentle rain.

Not fire.

Not ash.

Vitality.

A soft mist of pure, luminous energy drifted down across the citadel, settling over the wounded and the broken. Cuts began to close. Burns vanished. Regeneration accelerated.

The mid-god looked up, eyes widening.

“…This is vitality.”

He breathed in slowly.

“That explosion… it was pure vitality.”

He scanned the air again, searching for any trace of darkness.

“There’s no sign of dark mana anywhere.”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“…That means the High Gods won.”

Relief rippled through the survivors.

Low gods laughed. Officers slumped in relief. Divine soldiers looked at one another with renewed confidence as their wounds healed faster under the falling mist.

Cheers began to rise.

“That abyssal is dead!”

“The High Gods have slain him!”

“Victory to the god realm!”

The plaza filled with celebration. Even the injured managed to stand straighter, basking in the healing rain of vitality.

None of them noticed the faint distortion forming above the Hall of Judgment.

None of them sensed the presence that had already returned.

And none of them realized—

they were celebrating far too early.

Celebration still echoed through the ruined plaza.

Divine soldiers were laughing.

Lower gods were breathing in the falling vitality like victory itself.

Some even began speaking of rebuilding the hall of judgment.

Then one soldier frowned.

“…Wait.”

He squinted upward.

“What’s that…?”

His eyes widened.

For a heartbeat he froze—then his face twisted in terror.

“Abyssal…!!” he screamed. “He’s alive—!!”

He pointed upward with a shaking hand.

All heads turned.

Above the plaza, suspended in the air as if he had always been there, floated Zane.

Black hair drifting lazily.

Torn white shirt fluttering in the divine wind.

Deep purple eyes looking down at them as though he were observing insects.

The soldier who had pointed never got to scream again.

A thin line of dark mana shot down from above—so fine it was almost invisible. It touched him.

He vanished.

Not exploded.

Not burned.

Vaporized.

Zane lowered his finger slowly, like someone finishing a casual gesture.

“…Pointing is rude,” he said.

Silence fell over the entire plaza.

The surviving gods stared upward, horror spreading across their faces as realization set in.

Zane glanced around at them all.

“Anyway,” he said lightly, voice carrying across the ruined citadel, “your masters are dead.”

Shock rippled through the crowd.

One mid-god stepped forward, face pale.

“No… that’s impossible,” he said. “You’re lyi—”

Zane cut him off with a small wave of his hand.

“My snacks are coming,” he said. “So we’re going to do this quickly.”

He raised two fingers.

“I’ll give you two options.”

He smiled.

“First: kill yourselves.”

“Second: I kill you.”

A pause.

“…Choose.”

No one moved.

They were too stunned. Too terrified. Too unable to process what stood before them.

Zane sighed softly.

“Second it is.”

He lifted one arm.

Above his palm, a sphere of dark mana formed—unstable, writhing, dense enough to distort the air around it. It pulsed once. Then he simply let go.

The sphere remained floating in place.

Zane lowered his hand.

“…Go.”

The sphere detonated.

Not outward like an explosion—but inward, unraveling into hundreds of razor-thin tendrils of dark mana that shot in every direction at once.

Beams tore through the plaza.

Through bodies.

Through armor.

Through divine shields that might as well have been paper.

Gods tried to run. Some teleported. Some screamed. Some attempted to counterattack.

It didn’t matter.

The tendrils were faster.

They pierced everything.

Zane didn’t even watch.

He had already turned away.

In the distance, he saw a familiar figure approaching toward him.

Eirenyssa.

She landed near him, slightly out of breath.

“My lord…!” she said, relief and worry in her voice as she saw his torn shirt. “You’re injured—”

“I’m alright,” Zane replied casually. “Just my clothes.”

She blinked. Then hurriedly reached into her dimensional bag and pulled something out.

The famous skewers by god of cooking.

Still steaming.

Perfectly glazed.

Golden-brown and dripping with fragrant sauce.

The smell alone cut through the battlefield.

“From the god of cooking,” she said.

Zane’s eyes lit up faintly.

“…Hmm. Looking good.”

Behind them, the massacre continued. Dark tendrils still slicing through the last fleeing figures. Bodies falling. Divine blood evaporating into the air.

Eirenyssa glanced back once—only once—at the slaughter.

Then Zane handed her a skewer.

“Pay no attention to them,” he said. “You take one too.”

She hesitated for half a second.

Then accepted it.

They both took a bite.

Flavor exploded across their senses—perfectly balanced, impossibly rich, divine in every sense.

Zane chewed slowly.

“…Tasty,” he said. “This trip was worth it.”

Behind them, the last screams faded.

Dark mana tendrils dissipated.

The Hall of Judgment fell silent once more.

Floating above the ruins of an annihilated god realm, Zane and Eirenyssa simply stood there, eating skewers, as if nothing of importance had happened at all.

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